


D U L Z U R A

by AkireMG



Series: Supernatural AU's [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, I Don't Even Know, Kinda, M/M, Mickey feds off people's energy, Sad, Supernatural Elements, in general because apparently i can't write happy things, it's complicated - Freeform, like an incubus but not necessarily with sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 06:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15746397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkireMG/pseuds/AkireMG
Summary: Because there he is.Mickey.His Mickey.Strong and beautiful, young and vibrant, smiling at Ian like he cares and like there are no bruises on his wrist and hips, dry spit all over his body or cum leaking out of his ass.





	D U L Z U R A

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I write something in English. Spanish is my mother language, so here goes nothing, I guess.  
> I don't really understand the world I wanted to create, so it's confussing even for me, but I hope it will make some kind of sense to you.  
> Any grammar of spelling mistake is mine and it would help me if you point it out for me to fix. Thanks.

Ian has been doing this for so long that he should be past the anger and bitterness by now, but he isn’t. He doubts he’s ever going to be because he can’t imagine himself not giving a shit about what Mickey does, what he’s been doing for the past ten years like it’s nothing anyone should care about.

Ian cares. Always have and always will. It would be hard no to even if he didn’t love Mickey the way he does. Even if those blue, hard eyes and pale, cold skin didn’t make him lose his breath just like when he was a fifteen-year-old boy with too much hope for the place he lived in and Mickey feared the mere thought of showing to the world who he really was.

But oh, they are so far from then that the memories have turn into a deep ache that never leaves Ian alone. It has settled in the center of his bones, weighing him down, stealing bit by bit the only thing that’s keeping him alive at this point: Mickey’s love, the last of his ever-fading magic.

Mickey’s mother, Natalya, had been a witch. She used her magic to heal her children’s bruises and broken bones, to give them the warmth they would never get from their father, to remind them that there was more to life than the pain of a fist against their faces or the viciousness of the words Terry said to try and mold them to his own image.

When Natalya died, her oldest children forgot about the magic, but Mickey and Mandy didn’t. They kept it a secret between the two of them and never said a word about it until it was necessary for others to know. They were loyal to their mother’s lessons – _it is yours, yours to give and yours to keep hidden, only yourselves have the power to decide how and when you use it_ – to the point where Mickey died before even considering being someone he wasn’t, make the selfish choice and save himself at the expense of Ian’s sanity.

He gave Ian his magic, his love, and died for doing it. His magic was the whole essence of his being, his soul and motivation, his power and sense of purpose. He gave everything he never knew he had for Ian’s well-being, and when Ian walked away from him, he didn’t have a sole piece of his own soul to stay alive.

It took a few months of constant pain and weakness, of nightmares and loneliness, until Mickey was ill enough for his body to give up. Ian wasn’t there to see, but Mandy was crude when she came back to tell Ian that Mickey was gone. She didn’t leave any detail out. He told Ian about the headaches Mickey would suffer on the daily, the piercing hunger he never could satisfy no matter what or how much he’d eat and the sleepless night he would spend trying to find some type of comfort in the books Natalya filled with all her knowledge about love and heartbreak.

It’s been twelve years since that day when Mandy showed up with red-rimmed eyes to deliver the news and Ian still remembers every word she said and every micro-expression her mourning would make impossible for her to hide. He hasn’t seen her again and doesn’t expect to no matter what happens to him. She stopped caring about Ian when Mickey wasn’t there anymore to talk about their mother and everything she taught them before Terry took her from them. Once, so long ago, she loved him like a bother, but now she couldn’t give less of a shit. Ian knows he can’t ask for more that exactly what he deserves, but it would be so much easier with Mandy by his side…

Because there he is.

Mickey.

His Mickey.

Strong and beautiful, young and vibrant, smiling at Ian like he cares and like there are no bruises on his wrist and hips, dry spit all over his body or cum leaking out of his ass. He stands there, dressed in a shirt that’s too big on him and nothing more, looking at Ian with unspoken questions on his lips and terrible promises in the corners of his eyes. He looks almost surreal with that healthy glow lighting up his skin. He just fed and is more that ready to deal with all the emotional baggage Ian seems unable to leave behind.

“Hi, Ian,” Mickey says, still smiling, his eyes boring holes in Ian’s resolutions and restrain.

“Mick,” he responds, throat tight, palms sweating. He’s nervous. Mickey is always full of power after he feds. Today is no exception. Ian can almost taste his energy in the air that surrounds him.

“You’re getting better at this,” Mickey takes a step closer, slow, calculated. “It only took you six weeks this time. In a few years it’ll be days, and then just a couple of hours... if you live long enough, of course,” and he’s not smiling anymore. There’s a certain sadness in his expression. He may not love Ian like he used to –oh god how much Ian _wishes_ —, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care at all; Ian is thankful for the small graces of life.

“Mick,” Ian says again, trying to breath steadily, “I’m happy to see you’re fine.” But more about finding him so fast. The last time it was three months. Ian is convinced he couldn’t survive that long without Mickey again, at least not if he wants to stay sane. His meds are not miraculous. There is so much more that he needs to be in a good physical and mental state, and Mickey is essential for that. “How’s Garret?”

Mickey’s face changes completely. Ian swallows the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth. He doesn’t remember Mickey looking that happy when they were teenagers, not even after Mickey came out at the Alibi and they didn’t have to hide anymore.

“He’s sleeping,” Mickey says looking for a moment in the direction of –Ian suspects—his bedroom door. “He’s tired, so don’t be too loud, ‘kay?” Ian nods without thinking; not that he really has any other options. Mickey walks past him to the kitchen, leaving Ian with nothing but the smell of his skin. Ian closes his eyes and breaths deeply before following him. “You hungry? Garret went to the store yesterday, so there’s a lot of groceries, I’m sure we can work something out. When was the last time you ate? Don’t want you passing out in the middle of my living room like that time in Pittsburg”

Mickey talks about it like it happened yesterday and not eight years ago. Time is different for Mickey now. He’s forever twenty-two, and time loses its meaning when you have it limitlessly. Garret’s the same, forever looking like a twenty-something almost-thirty years-old man with broad shoulders, a pretty smile and the ability to turn into a gigantic wolf whenever he pleases.

They are a match made in heaven.

Ian loathes them. He hates the way they look together, so perfect and compatible, like Ian was nothing but a step in Mickey’s path towards happiness.

“Eggs and bacon?”, Mickey asks distractedly while he fills two glasses with orange juice. Ian sys yes, takes one of the glasses and sits in the counter, drinking in little sips and enjoying the view of Mickey’s body moving around the kitchen. This interaction is nothing in Mickey’s eyes, but Ian will take anything he’s willing to give him. “Think I’ll cook for him too, he’s gonna be fucking ravenous when he wakes up,” Mickey mutters to himself without paying an ounce of attention to Ian, but Ian smiles watching him because Mickey is Mickey even after giving up his soul and life for something that Ian is not sure was worth it.

It’s been twelve years and Mickey has no more magic to give or hide like his mother told him he could, and Ian is no longer as hopeful like when he was younger, but here they are, together in ways that none of them could have ever imagined. Mickey doesn’t love him –he has Garret now— and maybe he never will again, but, for the life of him, that won’t stop Ian from trying to fix everything he did wrong.

“I think I can give it back to you,” Ian says suddenly, the words from that old book he found coming to his mind in avalanche. Mickey looks at him, eyes cold and mean, daring him to keep talking about things he doesn’t want to hear about. “I want you to have it,” he whispers, “we can try, Mick.”

Mickey has lost every little remain of gentleness he had for Ian in the blink of an eye.

“You think is that easy?” he asks, the smile on his lips getting nastier by the second. “The only way to do that is getting back in time to stop me from separating my body and soul, Ian, and no one has the power to do it. Or can you? Can you go back in time and _convince_ me not to? Do you really think you could?”

No, Ian doesn’t, so he shuts up and waits for Mickey to tell him to fuck off. Only, that doesn’t happen. Instead, Mickey sighs and closes his eyes for a few moments. He’s virtually immortal, but not foolproof to the miseries of mortality such as pity, sadness and hopelessness. He still feels like a human being, sometimes with much more passion than any person should be capable of, and Ian knows he’s one of the few reasons that can make Mickey lost it. He’s the fucking rock in his shoe, the itch he can’t scratch, the walking and breathing scar of a life he barely even _remembers_.

“You have to- “

“No,” Ian says immediately, the anger bubbling up on his chest.

“-let him go, Ian,” Mickey says, and his voice is tired, almost pleading, like he believes Ian has the will to do that.

“You’re here, you’re alive, how can I let you go?”

It’s an honest question Ian has been trying to respond for more than a decade now. His brain is simply incapable of imagine a life in which he doesn’t have Mickey one way or another. It’s pathetic, it won’t take him anywhere, but Ian is stubborn and desperate. He craves everything he once had with Mickey. Some nights he can’t sleep for how much he wants Mickey to love him again, to hug him in his sleep and kiss his forehead like when his bipolar diagnosis was leaving him feeling like a ghost of himself. He cries remembering every moment they had together because years have been washing out the details and one day Ian will lose the memories entirely.

“The man you love is not me,” Mickey says –again; it’s not the first time they have this conversation—. Ian doesn’t want to make eye contact. If he does, he will see that Mickey is telling the truth, and that is something he’s not ready to accept, leave alone acknowledge. “He’s dead. Your boyfriend died a long time ago, just like Mandy’s brother did. I’m not him. The only thing we have in common are the looks, and that’s only because I cannot change this body.”

“You remember,” Ian will cling to whatever he can, “you remember me and remember Mandy. It’s you, Mickey. I just have to give you your soul back and everything will be like before. Just try, please, I beg y-”

“What about Garret? We have a life together. He’s my husband, I’m his mate. What do you think would happen to him if _I_ disappear to bring _your_ boyfriend back? I love him. I won’t do that to him. But do you even care about that? No. Everything you care about is having what you don’t anymore,” Mickey is angry. Ian can’t blame him. He’s practically asking him to give up his life _again_ , and even if all Ian wants is to return what should have never been given to him, his desires are not Mickey’s priorities. “He loved you with everything he was, Ian. You should accept his sacrifice, embrace the love he left you, and move on with your life.”

Yeah.

Like that’s possible.

“I can’t,” he shrugs and smiles dejectedly. “You know I can’t.”

Mickey does. Ian has tried –he even got married—, but nothing has help go over the denial stage of Mickey’s death twelve fucking years ago.

Mickey decides to let it go one more time. Garrett is waking up anytime soon and there’s still food to be cooked, so he gets the ingredients, turns on the stove and tries to ignore Ian’s distress. It’s not easy. Ian is a creature of emotion and Mickey feds off them. His anguish is like a song to Mickey’s nature, his ever-present hunger, and if it wasn’t for Garrett, he would have fallen for Ian’s overwhelming passion a long time ago.

But this is what they are now, and none of them knows how to make the situation better.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, that's it.  
> Maybe it will turn into a series, but I don't know.  
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
